“Ah—true—everything is for Mitli.”
“I’m afraid she is out of favour with you?” ventured her mother timidly.
“Ach ye! She is indeed changed. It is another Mitli, Mein Frau. I have eyes and ears, and I hear tales—half of them I do not believe—for I still love the kindli—I cannot help myself.”
“What have you heard? I implore you to tell me. Who has been talking?”
“Elizabeth Baer for one. I met her a few days ago at market, and she came over and spoke, and said that Mitli is a Wustus Madel, and had a bad influence on her girl Berthe—she had forbidden her the house!”
“No!” ejaculated Letty in a tone of angry astonishment. “Impossible!”
“Yes; Mitli puts ideas into Berthe’s head, ideas about money, dress, and young men, and she makes the girl her tool, and has, Jesus Maria! corrupted her mind.”
“My child corrupt anyone! How dared she say such things!”
“At least she makes trouble,—and now she no longer is received—no, not these two months.”
“Oh, surely you must be mistaken,” but the remonstrance was half-hearted; “she was there last week.”